I Am Damaged
by Detective Trotter
Summary: Leslie visits Georgie in the aftermath of the crisis at Monkswell Manor. Title taken from the song of the same name from Heathers: The Musical.


"He's going to be okay, isn't he?" Leslie asked anxiously. "I mean, you're going to take care of him, right?" She turned from the desk and started pacing quickly. The man at the desk sighed and rubbed his temples.

"Miss Casewell, our priority is to ensure the safety and stability of Mr. Corrigan. But none of our patients are immune to the British court system, no matter how ill they are." Leslie refused to look at him. Georgie wasn't ill. She hated thinking of her brother that way.

"But…" she felt sick. "He won't be tried as a murderer, will he? That is to say, not a regular murderer? He can't be, he's not right in the head! You know that!"

The man stood up, slamming his hands on his desk. "Miss Casewell! I have no control over your brother's indictment. His schizophrenia will be taken into account, but the fact of the matter is that he _did _kill two people, Miss Casewell. That cannot be ignored."

Leslie folded her hands behind her back. "Yes. I know. May I see him?" The man sighed.

"Yes. He's in room 431, down the hall." Leslie nodded and hurried out of the room, her head bowed.

She took her time walking along the hallway, counting each room aloud as she passed it. "425… 427… 429… 431." She paused outside the door and read the small sign on it. It stated that "Inpatient: George Corrigan" was alone in this room due to "dangerous behaviors" and "murderous tendencies". Leslie almost walked away. But she couldn't. She couldn't turn on him now. So instead she knocked softly on the door.

"Georgie? Georgie, it's Kathy."

A bright voice from inside answered. "Come in!" Leslie opened the door and stepped into the room. It wasn't the scene she was expecting. Yes, the room was rather barren, and the bed was a regular, uncomfortable hospital bed. But there was Georgie, perched on the end of it, a book in his hand. "Kathy!" he said excitedly.

Leslie smiled genuinely. She had been afraid of what condition she would find Georgie in. And she was afraid to ask how he was doing. She didn't want to break his good mood. "What are you reading?"

Georgie smiled the wide smile Leslie always loved, and twirled a small hair curl by his ear around his finger, just like she always remembered. "Sherlock Holmes," he said proudly. "I have always loved detective stories." Leslie paled.

"Georgie… Did you use this as your… inspiration?" He slowly put down the book and turned to her, and Leslie immediately regretted asking. She took a step back warily, but Georgie only spoke quietly.

"I've always wanted to be a detective," he whispered. "I wanted to pretend I was someone else."

_You wanted to pretend you were someone else so you could kill people_, she thought. But she didn't say that. "Did you… enjoy being a detective?" she asked.

Georgie nodded. "It was fun. But it was nothing like Holmes and Watson." Leslie shook her head.

"N-no… I would assume not." She didn't understand what he was feeling, didn't understand his motivations. Or maybe she didn't want to understand. Because if she thought about it long enough, she knew exactly what Georgie was feeling. And that frightened her.

"Kathy?" When she looked up, Georgie was staring at her anxiously. "Why did you change your name?" The question took Leslie by surprise.

"I wanted to forget," she murmured. "So I took on the last name of Casewell, which was the family's name. I renamed myself Leslie Margaret Katherine Casewell, and left Kathy Corrigan far behind."

"Why?" he asked hoarsely. Leslie shook her head.

"For the same reason you joined the army," she said. "I was afraid they'd find me. Of course the authorities had already thought of that- that's why I grew up in _Majorca. _The oversea distance protected me, and the army protected you… as ironic as that sounds. Oh, Georgie, why did you leave? You were safe there!"

He looked sad, and took on the look of one much older than he was, or acted. "War isn't safe, Kathy. It isn't a place you can go to hide away from your troubles. I thought I could do that, and I was wrong. All I did was kill people. And you know what, Kathy?" She shook her head, nervous again. "I enjoyed it. I hated seeing everyone die around me. It was like Jimmy all over again. But when they died at my hands? I felt powerful. For once I felt in control over my life. Like an adult. And I don't regret any of those deaths on the battlefield. I don't regret killing Mrs. Stanning, or Mrs. Boyle. And Mrs. Ralston-" Leslie cut him off with a shout.

"Georgie, don't say these things! You don't mean them! You don't mean any of them! Georgie, please say you don't mean.."

He smiled crookedly. "Don't I? I think we both know that's not true. I'm far too damaged, Kathy."

"No," Leslie whispered. "Don't say that. You're going to get better, Georgie. I- I promise."

"Like you promised Jimmy would get better?" She looked away and Georgie looked smug. "I think you should go," he said quietly. Leslie didn't move. "I said I think you should go!"

Reluctantly, she turned away and walked to the door. When she turned back, Georgie had returned to his calm perch on the bed and had resumed reading. "Goodbye, Georgie."

He didn't respond. Instead, Leslie heard him whistling a familiar tune. She left the room and didn't look back.


End file.
